


I'll Be Home for Christmas

by A_Bright_Idea



Series: Hurt & Healing [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Bats tries his best, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Christmas Fluff, Depression, Dick Grayson is a little heartbroken, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M Rape, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Jason is a potty mouth, Little Brothers, Nightmares, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Bruce Wayne, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, Tim drinks too much coffee, bad breakups, bat dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Bright_Idea/pseuds/A_Bright_Idea
Summary: Bruce has no idea how Dick talked everyone into it, but they're all celebrating this Christmas together - Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian. Fights are inevitable; there will be sass; and Jason will drop a small fortune into the swear-jar...But family is family, and when Dick is in need, they come together.-------Bat-Family being close and cute. Dick Grayson's a little heart-broken and depressed. Mention of F/M rape, and suicidal thoughts. Mostly fluff and hurt/comfort.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EveryDarkCorner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDarkCorner/gifts).



> I finally succumbed and wrote some BatFam fanfiction, for which you can all blame EveryDarkCorner, who also beta'd this for me! (Thank you, beautiful!)  
> This isn't set in any particular one universe, and while it has vague references to some comic story lines, it's sort of diverges...Basically, just don't worry about it.
> 
> I don't own Batman or any of the characters associated with this franchise. They all belong to DC!

How Dick had talked everyone into it, Bruce still had no idea. Even Alfred was surprised when Bruce, still a little shell-shocked himself, revealed the holiday plans.

“All of them?” Alfred paused, mid dusting. “Here? At the same time?”

“Worried we won’t have enough space?” Bruce said acerbically, and Alfred gave him a withering look.

“There are twelve bedrooms in this mansion readily available, Master Bruce, but we both know Gotham itself isn’t big enough for all four of your sons together.” He sighed, but beneath it all, there a smile. “If any of you manage to reach Christmas eve without a black eye, I shall be thoroughly impressed.”

Tim was the first to arrive on the morning of the 22nd. Alfred had tidied his room, but within half a day he got it back up to its usual standard of mess. “It helps me work,” he said, tapping away at his computer as Bruce looked in, amazed at the content littered across the floor.

“An ordered workspace makes for an ordered mind,” Bruce said.

Tim looked up at him with black-rimmed eyes, a large cup of coffee sat on the bedside. “Order means repetitive thought patterns—if you want to provoke new ideas and theories, you need chaos,” he said. “And tell Damian to stay out of my stuff—I know he’s been using my bo-staff.”

“I have no interest in your petty weaponry,” Damian declared, sauntering into the doorway with a sneer.

“Oh yeah, how come I have a video of you using it then?” Tim turned his computer around to show a clip of the damning evidence.

“You put surveillance on me?” Damian demanded.

“I put surveillance in my room. Which you _broke_ into.”

Damian gritted his teeth, but he forced a smile. “Technically it’s not your room—this isn’t your home, Replacement.”

“Don’t _call_ me that,” Tim snarled. That had been Jason’s go-to insult. “Besides—you’re _my_ replacement!”

“And why are you saying that like you should be proud?” Damian cocked an eyebrow.

“None of you are replacements for one another.” Bruce was already tired. “It’s not a competition.”

“Whatever.” Tim swivelled the screen back around, his eyes narrowed. “Can you get out—I finally got the details of the Barlo Case, and I’m trying to crack it.”

Bruce, ears still ringing from the last lecture he’d had from Alfred about respecting his boys’ privacy and work, tentatively asked, “Do you need—”

“Nope.” Tim hit a few keys on his computer, without looking up.

Jason was next through the door the following evening, coming in via the Batcave, apparently straight from work.

“People are going to get suspicious that they didn’t see you arriving,” Bruce warned him.

“That’s why I did it.” Jason pulled off his red helmet, and tucked it under his arm. “Fuck the paparazzi.”

“Master Jason!” Alfred objected, but Jason just waved his hand and went up to his own bedroom, loudly declaring;

“I’m taking a shower. No one flush the toilet.”

Alfred lost the wager he’d made with himself a mere two hours later, when Damian and Jason got into a full-blown fist-fight over an off-hand comment that neither, in hindsight, could actually remember.

 “The casualties could be worse,” Alfred said, as he swept up the remains of several priceless, antique Ming vases, and looked wistfully up at the tattered oil panting hanging above them. Jason had stormed off into Gotham city on his Motorbike, his lip split, while Damian had gone down to the training room to kill the punching bag, his right eye black and swollen. Bruce might have been concerned Jason had left for good, but he’d left his bag and his clothes, all perfectly tidied away, in his room.

“This was a terrible idea.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Behind him, he heard Tim running past.

“Almost solved it! I’m using your computer!” he declared, and was then gone, running down into the Batcave.

“I’ve raised A Ball of Rage, a Murderous Delinquent and a Sassy Workaholic _,_ ” Bruce said slowly. “Where did I go wrong, Alfred?”

“It is possible that allowing children to fight crime in one of the most dangerous cities in the world may have had something to do with it.” Alfred strained. “Then again, it is also possible they were like this to begin with…Perhaps that’s why you adopted them?” He swept past Bruce. “To give them a direction to concentrate their grief and energies.”

To Bruce’s surprise, Tim actually came along on patrol that night, and apart from a few snide, competitive comments to one another, he and Damian actually worked surprisingly well together, as Robin and Red Robin. The three of them stopped a small bank-heist, with Jason swinging in at the end, red helmet gleaming.

Their cooperation with one another fell apart the moment they reached the house. This time, it was Bruce who picked the fight, dragging Jason to the side.

“You almost _killed_ him.”

“Bruce, you almost kill people _all the time_ —it’s the _almost_ part that matters. Besides, the guy shot an old lady. I should have done more than put his head through the window. Where are your priorities, man?”

“Todd is right,” Damian chimed in. “Though it makes me physically sick to say so. There was no room for greater mercy.”

“Damian, go to your room!” Bruce shouted, and his youngest son snarled, teeth gleaming.

Tim had already established himself back at the computer, calling up to Alfred to bring him an espresso. “I’ve almost got this—could you two take your shouting match elsewhere, please?”

 _We’re not going to make it to Christmas,_ Bruce thought. _I’m not going to make it to Christmas._

He went back out onto patrol alone, and only came back in at around four AM. Tim was still working away, rewatching the same five seconds of a surveillance video over and over.

“New evidence for the Barlo case?” Bruce asked, and Tim jumped and looked around.

“Huh?”

“The Barlo case.” Bruce gestured up to the screen. “You’re still working on it, right?”

“Oh—yeah, no, I solved the Barlo case yesterday,” Tim said. “Sent the details over to the police—arrests have already been made. This is a new one.”

“Right.” Bruce looked up at the screen. “You know—”

“Don’t need your help,” Tim spoke over him.

Bruce was too tired to argue. He trailed upstairs, past both Damian and Jason’s bedrooms—all was silent, so either they were asleep, or out on a hunting spree. He hoped the former.

The morning of Christmas Eve found them all having a late breakfast in the same room. Bruce hesitated to call it ‘together’. In fact, he hesitated to call it breakfast. Tim had brought his laptop down and was sipping coffee from behind his screen, muttering to himself. Damian, apparently still pissed off for being ordered to his room the previous night, was ignoring Bruce completely, and feeding scraps of bacon to the dog under the table. Jason was scrolling through his phone, feet up on the mahogany. A tension snapped in the air, as if all three of them—four of them, really—were waiting for _any excuse_ to start at one another.

The door behind them opened, and Dick Grayson stepped in with a huge pile of wrapped presents in his arms. “Hey everyone—Merry Christmas!”

 _Oh, thank God,_ thought Bruce.

“The Golden Boy returns!” Jason mounted to his feet first, a smile tugging across his face. Dick settled his presents to the side, and was dragged into a back-breaking hug. Somehow, though Jason had gotten taller than Dick somewhere in his late teens, the way they hugged always made Dick seem bigger—ever the older brother. How the pair had gone from trying to scratch each other’s eyes out to this, Bruce still had no idea. Age and distance was a good balm, apparently. “How come it took you so long to get here?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick laughed, and pulled away. “Had to pick up the Harley.”

For a split second, Bruce—and clearly both Tim and Damian—misunderstood that comment, and all turned to the door, half-expecting a blonde with a mallet to come tearing into the room. Jason got it immediately.

“You’ve got a _Harley Davidson?”_ He choked.

“Nope.” Dick held up a set of keys. “ _You’ve_ got a Harley Davidson.”

“ _Are you serious?_ ”

“Go look for yourself. Parked at the front.”

Jason shifted from foot to foot, transformed from his twenty-something years, back to an excited twelve year old. Then he sprinted out of the door, Dick laughing.

“Grayson,” Damian said, clearly trying to hide his excitement as he got to his own feet. 

“Hey, kid—heard you been practising your batons. Any good with them?”

“Better than you ever were.” Damian’s smile was genuine.

“Oh yeah? That a fact? All right, let’s test your mettle—training room, half an hour.”

 “I’m going to wipe the floor with you!” Damian leapt up from his chair and ran past, slowing just enough to let Dick ruffle his hair as he ran by.

“Hey, Dick,” Tim said. “Don’t suppose you know anything about blood spatters?”

“I might have picked up a thing or two—need help with a case?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, and Bruce stared. “The evidence isn’t making sense.”

“Well…” Dick came and sat on the edge of the table beside Tim. He picked up the cup of coffee and smelled it, his nose wrinkling. “Maybe you need to get some sleep? How many is this now—you look like a zombie.”

“I got a few minutes this morning—this is important,” Tim said.

“Your brain is important, and it’ll work better when you’ve rested. Come on—I’ll take a look at things while you’re sleeping, and we can put our heads together in a couple of hours.” Before Tim could say anything, Dick closed the laptop and pulled him out of his chair. Tim complained mildly, but sagged in a strange sort of relief as he climbed the stairs up to his bedroom, leaving his computer behind.

“That kid is living off a diet of coffee—we gotta make sure Alfred stuffs him this holiday,” Dick said in a low voice, shaking his head.

Bruce just stared. He didn’t know how Dick Grayson did it—how he managed to be the common ground and link between three brothers who were all too similar and too different from one another to function as a family…

Dick raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to offer him help with those cases for _days._ ”

“Well of course he wouldn’t accept—he’s trying to prove himself.”

“He has nothing to prove to me—I know his skills,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, but maybe he doesn’t yet.” Dick shrugged. “He’s finding his way—I mean, I remember what it was like at his age.”

“You had nothing to prove either.”

“You sure about that?” Dick raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a big shadow, Bruce, and we tend to put ourselves in it. Just give Tim some time to realise you want him by your side, not behind you. And don’t worry about the difficult cases he takes on. If it really gets hard, he’ll come to you—always.”

Bruce shook his head. “How do you handle them so well?”

“Handle them?” Dick laughed, coming around the table toward him. “I don’t _handle_ them—and if they heard you say that, there’d be riot. They just respond different to me—I’m their brother, we’re on the same side.”

“And I’m what? The enemy?”

“Always.” Dick beamed, and then opened his arms hopefully.

Bruce rose and pulled his eldest into a hug. “I can’t believe I used to think _you_ were a handful.”

“I was a handful.” Dick patted Bruce’s back, and they pulled apart. “But you raised me right enough.”

 _Did I?_ Bruce thought. He sometimes wondered how much of the raising Dick had done for himself. He considered his eldest for a moment. Dick was looking thinner than usual—he’d always been quite lithe, such was the way of an acrobat, but he seemed to have lost a few pounds since Bruce saw him last. And there were shadows under his eyes, the kind Tim had—from too many nights spent up, and not enough sleep.

“Everything all right?” Bruce asked.

Dick’s smile was soft. “Yeah,” he said. “Been a shitty few days. I’m glad we’re doing this…The six of us.”

“You might change your mind in a couple of hours,” Bruce warned, and squeezed Dick’s forearm. “And don’t pull a Tim on me. You need help—”

“Hey, come on now. We both know I’m better at asking for help than you ever were.”

“True.”

“I’m a _team player._ ”

Bruce laughed. The door sounded, and Jason came running back in. He tackled Dick to the ground.

“ _How did you afford that thing_?” he demanded.

“Unlike you I _invest well_ ,” Dick slapped at Jason, the pair rolling and play fighting.

Jason’s laughter was a touch hysterical. “I’ve been looking for that model for _years—how did you find out?_ ”

“I’m a detective, Jay.”

“Bullshit—I never told anyone!”

“It’s your _desktop background_!”

Jason roared with laughter. Bruce could have sworn he saw tears in his eyes. “You know I can’t pay you back, right?”

“Good thing it’s a present then!” Dick shoved Jason off.

“You’re not supposed to give us presents until tomorrow.”

“How was I supposed to hide that thing from you?”

“How does Bruce hide a _Batcave_ under his mansion.”

“But you _know_ about the Batcave, Jay— _you know about it._ ”

“Grayson!” The shout came from upstairs, Damian thundering down. “Prepare yourself, because I’m gonna kick your ass!”

“Watch your fucking language, little man!” Jason shouted back.

“Master Jason!” Alfred roared from somewhere downstairs.

“I’m going for a ride.” Jason jumped to his feet, his smile massive. “Dick, you’re the best brother in the world.”

“Remember that, next time you want to break into my apartment and smash all my windows.”

“One time—one time.”

“Three times—wear a helmet!” Dick shouted, as Jason ran off. “Not the Red Hood kind!”

The front door slammed, just as Damian appeared, dressed to train.

“That wasn’t half an hour,” Dick said. “I need to change.”

“Then _change_ —this is happening _now._ ”

Dick pretended to sigh. “Put those under the tree for me?” he implored Bruce, gesturing to the presents.

Bruce nodded. “Don’t kill each other.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooo! Thanks for all the kudos guys, and the comments! Here's chapter two.
> 
> Thanks again to EveryDarkCorner for being an awesome beta, and for motivating me!

It was some sort of alchemy. Maybe even magic. Dick’s ingredients for a good night. Jason came back from a three hour ride on his new bike, his cheeks red from the bite of the Gotham wind. His aura, which could usually be described as close to feral, had melted into something muted and relaxed, as if he’d pumped every last bit of tension in his body into the bike.

Damian and Dick sparred solidly for that entire time, until literal exhaustion took over, and the pair had collapsed onto their backs, gasping for air.

“Told you…I’d…beat you to the floor…” Damian panted.

“You…didn’t…that was…gravity,” Dick replied, and the pair snickered. “Bruce was right—you’ve really gotten good.”

“Father said that?”

“Mhm.”

Damian went back to talking to Bruce.

Tim emerged from his bedroom around five o’clock that evening, looking ten times better for the scrap few hours he’d had to sleep. To Bruce’s surprise, it was Jason who came and sat beside him on his computer.

“Heard you needed help with blood splatters?”

And somehow, when seven o’clock came around, there they all were in the same room again, but this time actually together.

The regular jabs and barbs had lost their edge, the teasing normal and brotherly, no hot tempers to provoke. Not for the first time, Bruce wondered if Dick was some sort of Metahuman.

“So then,” Dick went on, “Riddler has a gun to Bruce’s face, and is shouting at the camera, ‘I’ve got Bruce Wayne—if Batman doesn’t show up in the next three hours, I’ll splatter his brains across the wall’.”

There was a chorus of sniggering.

“How do you manage to mess up _that_ bad?” Tim slapped his hand against the table. “But Batman did show up, didn’t he—I remember it in the news. Was it you?”

“Nah,” Dick waved his hand. “I was fourteen—no way I could have pulled off a decent enough impression. I called Clark in.”

“Oh my God, Superman was Batman for a day?”

“Don’t remind me,” Bruce rumbled.

“He almost slipped up, like, fifteen times—I kept having to remind him that Bruce can’t fly,” Dick laughed. “Man, that whole ordeal upset the conspiracy theorists.”

“Conspiracy theorists?” Tim frowned.

“You weren’t the first person to suspect Bruce was Batman,” Jason said. “There was this whole subgroup of people who thought there was a connection. Course, it sounded like a crazy conspiracy back them. Right up there with lizard people.”

“Seeing Batman and Bruce together really killed the momentum behind their ‘investigation’,” Dick went on. “Course, there were a few who figured it out—except their working theory was that Bruce had cloned himself, or built an android…so, you know, no one took ‘em too seriously.”

“People are inherently stupid,” Damian muttered.

“To be honest, I have no idea how you’ve managed to keep it a secret up until now,” Tim admitted. “Surely someone has noticed the correlation between new Robins and the amount of children Bruce Wayne has adopted.”

“I honestly don’t think people are bothering to keep track. Besides—who’d suspect this asshole?”

“Master Ja—” Alfred began.

“I’ll put a dollar in the jar, jeez, sorry!” Jason waved his hand. “But seriously, the things I see about Bruce Wayne in the tabloids…Even I find it hard to believe he’s Bats, and I know the whole shabang.”

“Speaking of tabloids,” Tim chirped, and Dick sat bolt upright.

“Don’t do it,” he said. “Don’t do it, Tim.”

Tim typed something into his phone, and then turned to screen to face them. “You got moves, Dick.”

It was grainy video, but the quality was enough that they could easily make out the image of Dick Grayson dancing on a table, shirtless, with his trousers hanging open, and a cowboy hat on his head.

Dick dropped his head into his hands. “I thought I could trust you.”

“Heir of the Wayne fortune, Dick Grayson—going in the same direction as his father?” Tim read aloud. “When he transferred to Blüdhaven to become a police officer, we all had high hopes that Richard Grayson, the ward of Billionaire Bruce Wayne, might be going on the straight and narrow. But as video footage of Dick partying it up emerges, the truth is revealed that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“This is Wally’s fault—I never should have let him convince me to go to that party.” Dick shook his head, and then rose. “Patrol?” he asked Bruce.

“I can handle it alone,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, but I want to spread some of my Christmas cheer to my favourite Gotham dirtbags. You guys take the night off—Bruce and I can handle this.”

“But—” Damian began.

Jason swooped in. “Oh no, little brother,” he said, throwing his arm around Damian’s shoulder, “you’re staying right here. We need to decorate the tree.”

“I have more important things to concern myself with then decorations!” Damian argued, but Tim came in on the other side.

“You just know you’ll do a bad job of it,” he accused, and Damian’s face burned red.

“I know you’re trying to manipulate me into staying!”

“Is it working?” Jason grinned. Damian shook himself free.

“My tree is going to be superior to anything you’ve ever done.”

“And it’s a competition again,” Bruce muttered. _Figures._

He caught Dick’s small smile, and the quick, silent exchange he had with Jason. So this had been planned between the two of them. Bruce felt a streak of pride shoot through him.

For Christmas Eve, the streets of Gotham were surprisingly quiet. It was always one way or the other—either major crime, or nothing. It used to be, Bruce preferred having to deal with crazed maniacs on his Christmas…Now, the idea of an easy patrol, and going home to a decorated tree and his family was bliss. Not that he let himself be any less vigilant.

“It was good, what you did for Damian.”

“I doubt Ras a Ghul keeps a Christmas tree. Or even keeps the holiday. Damian should have a chance to experience it, the magic of it, before he grows up too much…Jason and Tim agreed.”

Bruce nodded. “About that video.”

“Oh no,” Dick groaned. “Please don’t.”

“You were drunk.”

“Yeah.” Dick avoided his gaze. Bruce had picked up on something the others had missed—but what did he expect from Bruce Wayne?

“You don’t drink, Dick—not that much.”

“I’d had a bad day,” Dick said. “Wally wanted to make me feel better. He did. The hangover the next morning was almost worth it.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Bruce asked.

Dick was quiet for a moment. “Kori and I broke up.”

This, he hadn’t expected. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t want to publicize it—it’s sort of my fault.”

Bruce was silent, waiting for him to expand.

Dick exhaled slowly. “I…sort of cheated on her.”

Once again, Bruce was surprised. “I see,” he said, but really he didn’t. Dick was many things, a flirt among them, but a cheater? It didn’t seem in his nature.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Dick said quickly. “I…sort of got tricked. There was a...her name is Mirage, she can transform into other people…I sort of...”

Bruce pieced it together. “Someone impersonated Kori, and you—”

“Slept with her. Yeah. I should have…I mean, I should have known. Something felt wrong, but I…I was an idiot, Bruce.”

Bruce’s gut tightened. “Kori blames you?”

“No, actually…The opposite,” Dick said. “She was understanding. Really understanding. But I…I blame me. I don’t feel right about what happened. I can’t…shake that feeling every time I look at her. I did wrong, I shouldn’t just be forgiven.”

“You were a victim—”

“Don’t say that.”

“You were. And you deserve forgiveness. And Mirage deserves to be punished.”

“Kori saw to that…” murmured Dick. “She almost killed her, almost went against everything she believes in…just because of me.”

Bruce listened in silence. Dick sighed.

“So…” he said, “it wasn’t just a shitty few days really. It was…Heads up.” His voice changed, as two thugs ran down the alley beneath them, accompanied by the distinct sound of a shop alarm going off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you EveryDarkCorner for being an awesome beta! We finally get some solid angst and the truth from Dick!

The tree was a miracle of light and colour. Damian and the others hadn’t just _decorated_ it, they’d somehow encapsulated the whole joyful, bright and slightly chaotic sense of Christmas.

“So?” Damian said proudly.

“So, you can decorate it every year—this is awesome, kid,” Dick said, circling the tree with his mouth open.

“You know we actually helped too,” Jason said, from where he was lounged on the sofa. Tim was sat on the other side, sipping from a large mug. Dick was relieved to see it was hot chocolate. Damian and Jason had one too, and as they stood there, Alfred came in with mugs for Dick and Bruce as well.

“Good patrol?” he asked.

“Mostly quiet—night before Christmas and all that.” Dick shoved Jason’s legs off the sofa and sat down next to him. Jason immediately rearranged his legs back over Dick’s lap, kicking him as he did. “I guess even the bad guys are feeling the good will.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Tim said. “Damian, it’s your turn.”

“This game is stupid,” Damian huffed.

“What are you playing?” Bruce took his own seat beside Tim.

“Charades, sir,” Alfred said.

“Yeah, except Damian never gets any of our movies, and he keeps doing Charles Dickins and shit.” Jason ignored the glare Alfred sent his way. There was the sound of a small clink, as Jason dropped a coin into the jar beside him. It was considerably full.

“So we changed the rules,” Tim continued. “We’re impersonating people—and you’re allowed to talk.”

“So, it’s not charades at all,” Dick summarised. “OK, I’m game. Give it your best shot, Damian.”

Damian thought very hard, then cleared his throat. “I have cleaned this room three times already—if you make me do it a fourth, there will be consequences!” he said, his voice twisting strangely.

“What is that accent? Are you Sean Connery?”

“Who’s Sean Connery?” Damian dropped the voice with a frown.

“I do believe Master Damian is attempting to do a very poor imitation of me,” Alfred said.

“Boo,” Jason whistled, “you suck, Damian.”

“Master Jason, watch your language!” Damian continued, and Jason threw his head back with a laugh

“Better,” he said. “Way more convincing. All right, my go!” He bounded up, taking Damian’s place. Grabbing one of the curtain ties, he wrapped it around his face so it covered one eye, and put on a gravelly voice.

“Robin,” he said, approaching Dick, who’d already started to laugh. “Your talents are wasted with the Titans. Join me, and we’ll be unstoppable.”

“Get out of my face.” Dick tried to push Jason away, but Jason only got in closer, leaning down.

 “Join me, Robin! Accept me as your Master!”

“Who is _that_ supposed to be?” Tim demanded.

“Slade Wilson,” Bruce said, as Jason pushed his face right up into Dick’s.

“Jooooin meeeee, Robiiiiin! Looooove meeeeee!”

“Now you’re just making it creepy.” Dick slid off the sofa, laughing.

“Just like his obsession with you.” Jason pulled back, and helped Dick back up. Damian yawned loudly. “Looks like its bedtime for the young’uns,” Jason said.

“Indeed, Master Jason,” Alfred said. “Master Damian, Master Tim, it’s high time you retired.”

“It’s not even midnight yet!” Damian objected. Beside him, Tim also yawned.

“Santa doesn’t visit kids who haven’t got to bed yet,” Jason said, and Damian threw his empty mug at him. Jason caught it. “Santa also doesn’t visit little psychos!”

“Don’t patronise me, Todd. I am perfectly aware that your so-called Santa Clause doesn’t exist.”

“You’ve seen what some of the Justice League can do,” Dick said, “is it really that farfetched that Santa might exist?”

“Yes.”

“Be that as it may, you should be getting to bed,” Alfred interjected.

“No complaints here.” Tim stretched and got up. “See you all in the morning.”

Damian grumbled but followed shortly.

Bruce called out to him as he left. “Damian.”

Damian paused, looking around from the doorway.

“The tree looks excellent,” Bruce said.

Damian turned his head away, but not quick enough to hide the smile. He allowed Alfred to usher him out of the room and upstairs.

Alone, Jason dropped back down onto the sofa next to Dick.

“So you and Kori split up?”

Dick’s head shot up, and then around at Bruce. “Did you—”

“When did I have time?” Bruce replied.

Jason sniggered. “You left the coms on,” he said. “I heard the whole conversation.”

“Shit, wait you mean—” Dick sat forward, pushing the swear-jar out of his face as Jason held it up.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said. “I had my ear-piece in. The other two didn’t hear. When were you planning on telling me, Dickiebird?”

Dick sank back into the sofa. “It’s not like it was a secret, just…” He waved his hand, and sighed. “Well, you know. So. OK.”

Jason’s face settled into something more serious. “Dick, you and Kori were getting pretty serious.”

“I know.”

“You got a ring for her.”

Bruce looked up sharply. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“It didn’t exactly come up,” Dick replied. “Besides, I’m of the belief that the first person to find out I plan on getting married should be the person I’m proposing too.”

“But you told Jason?”

“Jason ransacked my apartment, and found it,” Dick said calmly.

“I was looking for bandages,” Jason said.

“In my sock drawer?”

“OK, fine, I was looking for porn so I could hold it against you later. But this isn’t about that.” Jason waved it off. “You just broke up with the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.”

“Yeah.”

“That some pretty serious _shit_ right there, Dick. And you didn’t think to _tell us_ about it.”

Dick stared at the floor. “I know,” he said quietly. “But after everything we’ve all been through, a break-up just felt…We’re risking our lives every other day, you _died_ Jason…It just didn’t seem relevant.”

“If it’s relevant to you, it’s relevant to all of us,” Jason said firmly.

Dick covered his face, and released a shaky breath. “Yeah. I know. I’m an idiot. I know…” His other hand snaked out, and gripped the sleeve of Jason’s jacket.

Bruce rose up, and came and sat on the other side of Dick, resting a hand on his back as Dick hunched forward.

“You need to stop punishing yourself, Dick,” he said softly.

Dick gave a low laugh. “I—”

“You were planning on killing yourself.”

All three of them jumped, spinning on the spot to find both Damian and Tim stood in the doorway.

“How long have you been there?” Dick demanded.

“We just arrived,” Damian said. “But we heard the entire thing.”

Tim tapped one of the headphones in his ear. Dick’s eyes bulged.

“You _bugged_ the room?”

“Of course we bugged the room—you honestly think we wouldn’t recognise a dismissal like that?” Tim nodded to Jason. “We knew something was up, and you’d only talk about it after we were gone. I can’t believe you tried to hide this from us.”

Dick groaned. “I didn’t want to worry you two—”

“Hold on,” Jason interrupted, “back track—what was that you said about killing himself?”

“Yes, I’d like you to expand on that,” Bruce agreed, his hand tightening on Dick’s shoulder, as if sensing his eldest might make a sudden, mad dash for the window and leap away into the night.

Tim held up his laptop, which was tucked under his arm. “I started to get suspicious when you got in contact saying you wanted a family Christmas.”

“What’s wrong with wanting a family Christmas?” Dick spluttered.

“It wasn’t the suggestion, it was the wording of the invitation,” Tim said. “You sounded weird, Dick. Then that video came out of you in the tabloids, acting totally out of control. I hoped it was just a bad spell, but I knew it was serious when you arrived, all happy, and gave Jason the bike.”

“What?” Dick actually laughed.

“It’s one of the most common signs—expensive gifts, sudden positive change of mood, giving away personal affects—”

“I haven’t—”

“You’ve had Damian trained to use your batons, and were planning on giving him your old ones for Christmas—I saw the package.”

“Way to ruin the surprise…” Dick muttered.

“You updated your Will two weeks ago.”

“How do you even know—never mind. Tim, we’re superheroes, we live dangerously, that’s not uncom—”

“When we heard about Kori, it confirmed it.” Tim spoke over Dick. “You got us all together here, Dick, because you were planning on killing yourself, and you wanted us in reach of one another, so we could deal with it as a family.” His voice shook at the end, and he swallowed.

Silence filled the room, and then Jason was on his feet, dragging Dick up. “You _son of a bitch!_ ” he roared. “Tell me the kid’s wrong—tell me he’s drunk too many cups of coffee.” He shook Dick. “ _Why aren’t you denying it?”_

“Jason!” Bruce ripped the two of them apart. Dick slid to the floor, boneless. “Dick, explain. Please.”

“I…” Dick’s voice cracked. “Tim’s right.”

It was like he’d been punched in the gut. Bruce felt a wave of terror, and then terrible anger flow over him. He grappled with himself to stay calm. Jason punched the wall with a strangled yell.

“At least,” Dick went on, “that was the original plan, but…” he choked off, bowing forward so his head was against the carpet. “But then I changed my mind. I…I was trying to get you all together, because I thought it would be easier for you all…but then I thought…God, I want to be with them. I _need_ to be with them. If there’s any hope left, it’s here.”

“Dick.” Bruce almost felt dizzy. He lowered himself onto his knees, and rested his head on Dick’s back, gripping him. He heard the soft pad of footsteps, as the other three gathered around, creating a sort of protective wall around them.

Dick began to sob. “I’m in hell,” he said. “And I can’t get out…Every nightmare we’ve lived through—the shit I’ve survived—and it never got to me like this, because at least I always felt sure of where I was…But this—with this, no matter what Kori says, no matter how much I try to convince myself, I can’t shake it. The guilt. I should have known. I _should have known._ ”

“You’re holding yourself up to an impossible standard, Dick,” Bruce said.

“I _know_ that, but I can’t…I keep replaying it over, and over in my head, seeing every opportunity when I could have stopped it. When I should have said no. When I should have seen…And I wonder, did I know? Deep down, _did I know?_ Either way, I don’t deserve Kori.”

“Dick, this wasn’t some drunken kiss you shared with somebody on the dancefloor. This was someone maliciously using their powers to trick you into believing they were Kori. You were _raped,”_ Jason said fiercely.

“Don’t say that word.”

“I’m _saying it. You. Were. Raped._ ”

“But I wasn’t, Jason—I consented. The whole way through. I made the first move. I…I wanted it.”

“You wanted Kori. You consented to _Kori,_ not Mirage. Consent under false pretences isn’t consent!”

Dick only cried harder, his body juddering. “I should have _known_ ,” he moaned.

And Bruce knew it was about more than just Kori, and what had happened. The roots of the problem went deeper. The incident had merely triggered a lifetime of self-expectation, perfectionism, self-doubt and trauma and brought them rearing to the surface.

It was Damian who stepped forward, yanked Dick upright, and then fell against his chest, hugging him tightly. The others stared, taken aback. Damian’s eyes were screwed closed, and his jaw was clenched.

“You’re a selfish bastard, Grayson,” he hissed. “You would have ruined Christmas for all of us.”

Between his sobs, Dick laughed. “I know. I’m sorry. But I couldn’t think of any other excuse to get you all together.”

“That would have been easy!” Damian pounded his hand into Dick’s back. “You could have just said you needed us!”

Dick choked, and his arms flew around Damian and dragged him even closer. “Yeah,” he cried. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I need you…” It turned into a half-wail. “I need you all so much right now.”

Tim grabbed Dick by his other side, Jason covered Damian’s back, so he could hug around him, Bruce on the other side, gripping all four sons together. Dick sobbed loudly.

“I don’t deserve this,” he breathed. “I don’t deserve you all.”

“Shut up,” Jason held his head against Dick’s. “You’re sick. Your judgement is screwed. We know better.”

They sat like this for several long minutes, until Dick’s sobs had faded into soft breaths, his eyes red and tired. Damian finally pulled back, sniffing loudly, and trying to pretend that his own eyes weren’t almost as bloodshot as Dick’s. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.

“Pennyworth?”

Bruce snapped around and found Alfred standing, watching them, a tray of steaming drinks in his hands.

“I thought you might all need this,” he said quietly. “And these.” He nodded toward a set of painkillers.

“How much did you hear?” Dick asked quietly.

“Enough, Master Dick. There are few secrets in this house.” Alfred set the tray down, and the boys parted, allowing Dick to shakily push himself back onto the sofa, next to Bruce. Jason came to the other side, while Tim and Damian squeezed themselves onto the armrests. Alfred passed them all steaming cups of spiced chai-latte. “And if I may,” he said, raising his own drink, “midnight has struck…Merry Christmas, everyone. I am heartily glad we are spending it together as a family. All of us.”

“Merry Christmas,” they all replied, and Bruce wound his way around Dick’s shoulders and tugged him gently to his side.

“I couldn’t agree more, Alfred,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the final chapter!  
> Thanks again to EveryDarkCorner for being an amazing beta, and for suggesting a few of the funniest lines in this fic. Couldn't have done it without you, hon x

It was like the Christmases of childhood—before his parents died, when Dick still lived in the circus. Of course, it was _nothing_ like that too—it was mansion rather than a caravan, it was four brothers—two grown, one almost there, and a kicker—all stuffed into a bed together, rather than two parents and their tiny son, and the Christmas tree touched the ceiling, rather than merely occupying a tiny, three-foot corner of the room.

But the peace, the warm, vital sense of family, the comfortable safety—it was the same.

Dick lay in the centre of a pile of former and current Robins, and had to fight back the tears again. Damian was tucked in at his side, with Tim next to him, while Jason was on the other side. They were far too old to be sharing a bed, and Dick knew they’d all deny it happened in a few days’ time…But he supposed most conventional families didn’t don costumes and fight crime together either.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, and Dick knew the others would awake soon, if they weren’t already. He was happy to lie there. For the first time in a weeks, his chest didn’t hurt…And though the sadness and guilt still swam in the background of his mind, it was quiet for now. It would return, he knew. It would whisper dark things in his ears, and make him obsess and shake, but it was too cowardly to attack while his brothers were close.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tim suddenly said, making Dick jump, “we should have an agreement about this kind of thing.”

“Like a contract?” Damian’s eyes were still closed, but his voice clear.

“Sure,” Jason mumbled. “It can be that we don’t talk until after eleven AM. How’s that?”

“I didn’t realise you were all awake,” Dick murmured.

“I’m not,” Jason said.

There was a knock on the door, and Bruce’s voice sounded through. “Can I come in?”

“No,” Jason said. Bruce opened the door, and immediately faltered, eyebrows raised.

“We had a sleepover,” Dick said.

“I can see that.”

“Oh would you all shut up—God, I’m so tired.” Jason stuffed his face into the pillow.

“It’s almost noon.”

“According to Jason’s regulations, that means we’re allowed to talk then,” Tim said lightly.

Jason lifted his head to scowl, and then dropped it back into the pillow.

Damian sat up, stretching like a cat. “Why didn’t you wake us earlier, father?”

“I figured you all deserved the rest. And you had a late night,” Bruce said, leaning against the door frame. He had a cup of coffee in his hand. “But seeing as Alfred has almost finished preparing lunch, I thought it might be time.”

Damian and Tim both slipped out of the bed.

“I need coffee,” Tim said.

“I have to do my morning exercises.”

“It’s Christmas, you can take a day off,” Bruce said. Damian looked affronted. “Fine, but maybe cut it down to 100 set reps, instead of 200?”

“Fine.”

Both of them disappeared off, allowing Dick to sit up in the bed. Jason did the same with a small groan.

“Why do I feel hungover? What did Alfred put in our drinks?”

“Take a shower, you’ll feel better,” Bruce said, and Jason only groaned again and lumbered out of the bed, staggering past him through the door.

“Tim!” he shouted down the corridor. “Make me some coffee too!”

Alone, Bruce closed the door and face Dick. “How are you feeling today?”

“Hmm…Better, I think,” Dick said. “Calmer. Clearer.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. I’ll get up and join you all downstairs in a minute.” He rose from the bed. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“Any time. See you in a minute.”

The pile of presents under tree was more than generous. Of course, it wasn’t just things from the family—‘friends’ of the Waynes had sent gifts too, all trying to outmatch one another. Bruce already knew what was inside each package—they were screened thoroughly before they were let in the house—and usually offered hours of horrified entertainment.

Their gifts to each other were a great deal more intimate and personal. Alfred had gotten rare, special edition books for all of them—Victor Hugo for Damian, Sherlock Holmes for Tim, Lovecraft for Jason, Cyrano de Bergarac for Bruce and Shakespeare for Dick.

“I thought you might appreciate the puns, Master Dick,” Alfred said.

“Don’t encourage him,” Tim groaned, as Dick cackled.

In return, Alfred got a new set of silk pajamas and a dressing gown from Dick, a silver tea-pot from Tim, a collection of Stephen King novels from Jason, a ludicrously expensive hand-picked tea from Bruce, and a pair of knuckle-dusters from Damian.

“I very much doubt I will have occasion to wears these, Master Damian,” Alfred said, but there was a glint in his eye as he tried them on regardless.

Damian received weaponry from both Dick and Tim, a huge collection of art supplies from Bruce, and whole stack of ‘classic’ movies from Jason, with firm instructions he was to ‘educate himself’.

“We’re starting with Die Hard. Today,” Jason said.

Tim got a high-speed laptop from Bruce, a new bo-staff from Damian, who muttered that, having ‘borrowed’ Tim’s, he found it’s balance to be less than adequate, a new Camera from Jason and from Dick a selection of artisan coffee large enough to give him a heart attack.

“You’re not supposed to be encouraging his addiction, Dick!” Jason complained, as Tim opened one of the many jars and took a long, deep sniff.

For Bruce, Dick got a set of star sapphire cufflinks, while Tim bought a watch with an inbuilt device that could release a low level EMP, to deactivate nearby technology.  Damian gave him new, and improved batarangs, and Jason got him a huge, taxidermy bat.

“Well,” Bruce sighed, “better than the _live_ one you got me last year.”

“It’s the same bat,” Jason replied.

Jason, along with his Harley, got a new ‘smart’ helmet, modified by Tim to project information such as speed, distance, possible dangers, temperature and other things across the inside of the visor.

“Basically everything you get in the Batmobile, in a helmet,” Tim said. “So you don’t crash. Again.”

Bruce bought him a new jacket, with special, undetectable armour on the inside, and Damian got him a stack of retro comic books.

“How did you know I used to _read_ _these_?” he demanded. “Don’t say it was my desktop background, it was _not_ my desktop background.”

“I found your old copies in your cupboard,” Damian said flippantly. “The set was incomplete. It was annoying.”

Dick’s own presents made his heart ache with gratitude. Jason had got him a stress-ball, a deer-stalker hat and a bubble pipe to ‘help him’ with his detective work, and a can of mace.

“Why the mace?” Dick asked, holding it up.

“So you can get Slade in the eye.”

Dick snorted.  “I’ll keep it to hand, if he comes snooping.”

“ _When_ ,” Jason said.

Tim got Dick a new grappling hook. “It uses suction,” he said, “so it can be used on even more surfaces, and is stronger than a regular hook. Since you jump off buildings the most of any of us, and Blüdhaven doesn’t have as many gargoyles as Gotham, I thought it would be useful.”

Bruce bought him a yearly subscription to a luxury gym. Dick laughed, eyebrows raised. “You know, I get a pretty mean workout most nights on the job.”

“It has some of the best saunas and relaxation facilities in the country,” Bruce said. “And the subscription comes with full care treatment. Use it.”

Dick had to admit; access to a sauna and massage after a night’s grueling work sounded pretty damn good.

Damian’s present almost reduced Dick to a sobbing mess again.

It was an original piece of artwork. A portrait of his parents, framed and ready to go on the wall.

“Father helped me find pictures of them,” Damian said, avoiding Dick’s gaze. “He said you didn’t have many images.”

Dick had to swallow three times before he could get his voice out, “Damian…This is…Thank you.”

Damian just shrugged, and Dick’s hands shook as he slowly lowered the picture back into its box.

It didn’t take long to open the rest of the presents, after which they accepted a glass of champagne each from Alfred and relaxed in the lounge.

“About what I was saying before,” Tim said, after a long, contended silence, “in the bedroom, that is…”

“When you stole the last, precious few minutes of sleep I had left? Yeah, what about it?” Jason grumbled.

“We should have an agreement.” Tim looked pointedly at Dick. “A promise we all make to each other…That if the call for help comes, we answer it. Doesn’t matter what’s happened before, doesn’t matter what we’ve done, doesn’t matter whether we’ve been tearing each other’s throats out. Call comes in, we answer, no questions.”

“Don’t we already do that?” Jason yawned.

“We try, yeah…But I want official. And it needs to work the other way around.”

“That if we’re in trouble, we make that call,” Dick said softly.

“Exactly. You make it, knowing it doesn’t matter what else has happened; for that period only, everything else gets forgotten, and we’re there. But you _have_ to make the call, when you need it.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m in,” Bruce said.

“You sure you know how to ask for help, old man?” Jason cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m sure I can learn by example…If you try it, too.” Bruce smiled.

“Drake’s suggestion isn’t ludicrous,” Damian mused. “I agree to the principle. But I won’t need help.”

“Fine by me,” Tim said. “Just know that when you _do_ need help, we’ll be there.”

“This getting all soppy.” Jason pushed himself forward in his chair. “But all right, whatever. Agreed. Dickiebird?”

They all looked pointedly at Dick, but his throat had gotten thick again. He nodded.

“Agreed,” he said. “Definitely.”

“Good.” Tim settled back down with his drink. “No more of this suffering in silence crap then.”

“Alfred,” Jason gasped, “Tim said a bad word. Alfred, why aren’t you objecting?”

“On this occasion,” Alfred said, “I appear to have become temporarily deaf.”

“Oh that’s bullshit!”

“And quite remarkably, my hearing now seems to be restored, Master Jason. A dollar in the jar, if you please.”

*

Dick waited for Jason to put on the movie, and for everyone to settle down in the home cinema, before slipping out.

He found a secluded spot in the hall, and after hesitating, pulled out his phone and dialed Kori’s number.

She answered on the second ring. “Dick?” Her voice was high and tight. Hearing it made Dick’s knees go weak, and he sank down onto the stairs.

“Hey, Kori,” he said. “How…How’s it going?”

There was a tense pause, and then a loud sigh. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m in Gotham, with the family.”

Another long silence, softer somehow. “That’s good,” she said. “That’s…I’m glad you’re with them, Dick.”

“Me too. It’s been…therapeutic. I’m…I’m sorry I’m not with you.”

“Did you want to be with me?” Kori’s voice dropped to whisper.

“Always, Kori.” Dick ran a hand up through hair. “And I’m sorry for saying this now. It’s been weeks, and I’ve been avoiding you, I know…But I want you to know I love you.”

Dick thought he heard a sob. “I love you too, Dick. I thought…I thought after I went after Mirage…I thought you were disgusted with me, because I lost control.”

“Kori—what, no! No! I wasn’t disgusted with you, I was…I was disgusted with myself. I’m still pretty disgusted with myself…but that’s something I have to work on and figure out. My head isn’t in the right place—hasn’t been for a while.” Dick took a steadying breath. “I know I hurt you, when I left. I didn’t mean to. But if you’re willing to wait for me…I want to get better.”

He could hear Kori crying gently, and it only made his chest tighten even more. “I want that too. But there will be no waiting, Dick—if you are going to fight, I will fight with you. Together.”

For a split second his stomach plummeted, and then it soared. “I don’t know how long it’ll take…I’ve got some shit in my head that’ll take time to unpick. It may not be pretty. Or easy.”

“We have conquered every enemy we faced together,” Kori said. “We will conquer this one.”

Dick pressed his ear as hard to phone as he could, as if somehow it would allow him to be closer to her. He nodded, tears shaking free.

 _I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you_ , he thought, but he didn’t give the words power by speaking them.

“Thank you, Kori. I love you.”

“I love you, Dick. And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

She hung up soon after, and Dick sat on the stairs, cradling his phone, feeling both light and heavy all at once. He spotted Bruce stood in the doorway, watching from the shadows. Dick smiled, wiping his face.

“This is going to be hard.”

“It is,” Bruce said. “But you’re up for the challenge.”

“And I’m not alone,” Dick said.

Bruce stepped forward, and pulled Dick up into his arms. “No, Dick,” he said. “You’re not alone.”

They hugged for a long time, before finally drawing apart, Dick sniffing. Bruce put an arm around his shoulder.

“Come on—I am reliably informed by Jason that we’re currently missing the best part.”

Together, they returned to the home cinema, to their waiting family.

* * *

 

Thank you for reading! Check out the next installment in 'Hurt & Healing' series [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592108/chapters/38883809)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIN  
> Thank you for reading and for all your lovely comments and thoughts!  
> Any suggestions what I should write next?


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